


ʻĀnela's General Goods

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Danny tells Steve that he loves him, it's three in the morning and they're shopping for toothpaste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ʻĀnela's General Goods

Danny’s never really had any trouble saying those three little words. They come naturally to him. He’s not shy, will happily finish phone calls to family with words of endearment - no matter how many prying ears are nearby.

But even for him, there’s always something a little nerve-rattling about that first time, about jumping off the cliff and putting yourself out there. Telling someone you love them is all fine and dandy if you’ve been doing it for years, but life-changing declarations are something else entirely.

Which is why, when he suddenly blurts out, “Fuck, I love you,” - the only thing he can do next is slap his hand to his face. He slides his fingertips roughly down his skin, over his cheeks and to the line of his jaw, as if hoping to physically erase time and push the words back in.

They’re standing in the middle of ʻĀnela's General Goods, it’s three in the morning, and Steve has a shopping basket slung over the crook of his elbow. Above them, long strips of lights flicker and hum, bathing the store in that eerily florescent shine that seems to accompany all 24/7 joints. 

The sickly light doesn’t do Steve’s expression even a smidgeon of harm, the bastard. He still looks handsome, breathtakingly so. His hair is fluffy, brown curls at his nape disappearing into the upturned collar of his sweater. Only he could wear cargo shorts and a wooly rumpled jumper-thing, and still pull it off with ease.

At Danny’s words, Steve’s eyebrows do that funny thing they do, that one-two-up-down wiggle that only a portion of the population is able to get away with. “I love you too,” he says, as easy as breathing, as if they’re not having a _moment_ right now, and whoa, wait, what?

Steve leans forward, absently presses a dry kiss to the corner of Danny’s mouth before reaching past and selecting a tube of toothpaste. Spearmint gel, just like Danny likes - even though Steve’s more of a peppermint man himself.

Danny stares, agog, as Steve puts the toothpaste into the basket. He nestles it against a jar of Folgers, which they only buy because Danny likes the taste of crappy coffee that reminds him of home.

Steve starts to turn, make his way over towards the condoms, but Danny snags his arm and stops him in his tracks. He knows they’ll end up having their eternal battle about the pros and cons of flavored lube, and he doesn’t want to lose this moment just yet.

“What are we doing, here?” 

It’s a broad question, and again he wants to smack his hand to his face - he seems to be bringing up the heavy stuff, and this is neither the time nor the place. And yet he can’t seem to help himself.

Steve takes him quite literally, looks pointedly around the store and says, “We’re shopping?”

Maybe it’s because it’s a stupid hour of the night. Maybe it’s because he’s just declared his love to someone whom he met across the distance of two guns. Or maybe it’s just because Steve looks so good, sweet and hard and familiar, a faded love-bite peeking out from the edge of his collar.

Whatever the reason, Danny shelves his plans to snark about stating the obvious, chooses instead to let Steve’s words sink in until they settle, bone-deep.

They’re shopping. 

They’re standing in a store, side by side, a jar of Folgers between them - because Steve’s solution to Danny’s bouts of insomnia is to drag him out of the house, drive along the coast with the windows down and the radio on; do stupid, inane, lazy things, like shop for toothpaste until Danny tires, as if he’s four years old. 

Danny’s heart flips, because he thought he’d lost this, this kind of love. The kind that’s not just about sex and romance and danger, but also about having someone who’ll hang out with him at three in the morning, just because he can’t sleep.

And so he smiles, a creeping thing, slight and tentative, yet happy. He runs his tongue along his teeth, tests out those three little words that give so many people so much grief. 

But not him, no sir, he has no problems in that regard, none at all. “I love you,” he says again, deliberate and slow, with the kind of eye-contact that suddenly has him disastrously horny. His hands work their way to the small of Steve’s back, and he reels the giant goof in for a kiss, not even caring when Steve rocks forward to meet him so quickly that he gets a shopping basket to the belly for his troubles. 

When their kiss ends, neither of them moves back, content to share air and squash noses. Steve arranges his face into something stupidly hopeful, his eyes wide and round. “Does this mean we can buy the pineapple flavored lube?”

“Oh babe,” Danny whispers, soft and fond. “There’s not a chance in hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if Steve would be quite so relaxed about this, but I wanted something where, over the years, he's become so delightfully comfortable that loving Danny is easy for him.


End file.
